


Those Left Behind

by Dorksidefiker



Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-10 16:02:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorksidefiker/pseuds/Dorksidefiker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started out as something to do, a way to fill the endless days of an immortal life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [The Rise of the Guardians Home For Stray Plotbunnies has struck again.](http://rotg-kink.dreamwidth.org/2389.html?thread=5531221#cmt5531221)

There was nothing Seraphina could do for the child now; he'd been set on a path that she could have no part of if she wanted to maintain her precious neutrality. She wanted to rail against the unfairness of it all -- Jack Frost was a Winter Spirit, and should have been wholly _hers_ , rather than yet another pawn of the Man in the Moon. It would have been so very satisfying to break the agreement and steal the boy away.

But no. She had given her word. Jack Frost would learn nothing from her that might taint his thoughts.

So, instead of yelling at the Man in the Moon or snatching the spirit from his grasp, she filled the sky with clouds and the air with snow. She did not seek out Jack Frost, but she did not stray far from where he lurked, struggling to come to grips with the life he had been thrust in to.

That was how she met the mother.

Truthfully, it started with Jack's mortal sister, who came to the pond every day calling her brother's name. Seraphina regarded her with some sympathy -- she knew what it was to lose that most important person, so see them sacrifice themselves for your sake.

_Never mind how painful it is to have to live without him._

The other mortals treated the girl's obvious bereavement with disdain, telling her that her brother had been called home to God, and she should be happy for them.

 _Drought,_ Seraphina decided. _This place is about due for one._

The only one who did not chide the girl was her mother, who quickly turned in to an object of fascination for Seraphina. She was silent in her grief, pride keeping her back straight and her reddened eyes clear. Her son was gone, but the world continued to turn. There was bread to be baked, sheep to tend, and a daughter to keep fed and clothed.

No man acted as her helpmate. No man shared her bed. There was only the woman and her daughter, alone in their grief.

 

It started small. Little gifts to ease the burden. The lambing was easy that year, and the weather was nice when mother and daughter were forced to stay outside to watch over the ewes. Their food remained wholesome longer than perhaps it should have. More than a few rabbits met their untimely end accidentally running into the walls of their home. The garden flourished even as their neighbors felt the pain of heat and no rain.

Seraphina watched them, even after Jack began to wander from the place of his rebirth. She learned the ins and outs of their lives without meaning to, becoming more real to her than any mortal being had been in a very long time.

They weren't The Sister and The Mother anymore. They were _Emma_ and _Mary_. Emma made flower crowns while she watched the sheep, and sang silly songs until they reminded her of her brother. Mary would dance when she thought no one was watching, and often craved sweets, secretly hunting down honeysuckle during the precious little time she had free. Her delight when the vines began climbing all over her home was palpable, filling Seraphina with satisfaction that lasted for weeks.

The jars of honey were the first real sign Seraphina gave that the Overlands were more than just unusually lucky. Emma thought little of it, beyond enjoying the generosity of an anonymous neighbor, but Mary was more suspicious, casting watchful, speculative eyes on the men in the village. Some of the men looked back, but Mary had no interest in them. She had buried two husbands already, and had no interest in taking on a third.

Seraphina's gifts became more extravagant, though the honey never stopped. Fine silk thread dyed brilliant colors began transforming their garments into works of art. Steel and silver graced their table alongside new dishware.

It was the ceder chest, filled with bolts of fine cloth, that finally proved too much. Mary stared at it for a long time while Seraphina watched from a distance, finally giving it a kick that did nothing but bruise her toes.

"Who _are_ you?" Mary demanded, voice raised in a shout. "What do you _want_ from me?"

Seraphina felt her stomach drop and her mouth go dry as Mary glared angrily around her. _What do you want from me?_

It had started out as a _thing to do_ , something to fill a bit of time, to break up the endless duty that filled her life.

_What do you want from me?_

She'd been so lonely, filled with grief she couldn't share-

_What do you **want**?_

Seraphina called the wind to her, letting it carry her away from small village, and from the brief, beautiful lives of mortals.

 

 

Let it never be said that Seraphina was not one for grand gestures.

In this case, it wasn't for the sake of drama; while Seraphina had never been so foolish as to tie her power to the belief of mortals, she was still invisible to all but a select few, those who were more perceptive, those who _believed_.

A mortal could be made to believe. It was easier with the children the Man in the Moon so valued, but it could be brought on in adults. It was an effort, and a risk, but all life was risk.

Seraphina knew what she wanted.

The butterflies had no business being in this part of the world. Seraphina had called upon the brightest, most colorful insects at her command, a beautiful swarm that descended on Mary as one. They swirled around the woman like so many leaves caught on a whirlwind, each one infused with a tiny bit of Seraphina's power.

_believe, believe, believe_

The air smelled of lightning, clouds gathering above.

_believe, believe, believe_

Seraphina stood just outside the swirling column of butterflies, willing with all her heart for Mary to open her eyes to the wider world.

_Let her see me._

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife, like the moments before a storm would break. Seraphina's heart thudded in her chest, and she could _taste_ Mary's fear in the back of her throat.

Belief could be a terrifying thing.

_Wait for it, wait for it, just a few seconds longer..._

She was beautiful, even when afraid.

In one perfect moment, everything snapped into place. Seraphina dismissed the butterflies with a wave of her hand, watching Mary with her heart in her throat.

The mortal's eyes widened, blood draining from her face as she raised a trembling hand.

_She sees me. She **sees** me!_

Seraphina forced a calm smile. "Hello, Mary."


	2. Chapter 2

She was beautiful.

Inhuman and terrifying, but still beautiful. She wore a gown of emerald silk, of a cut that was utterly alien to Mary, and her black hair was unbound, cascading to her waist in thick waves and framing her thin face. Her voice was rich and melodious, and it came from a mouth the color of ripe cherries.

"Hello, Mary."

Her grandmother had told tales of the creatures that lived on the edges of civilization, the Good Neighbors and the demons that waited to snatch away children if they were naughty.

Mary Overland was no child, had done no wickedness -- whatever others might think -- so why would one of the Fair Folk come for her?

"What do you want?"

"You asked me that before." Her hands were as rough as Mary's where they touched her face. Mary found herself wondering what the fae creature could have done to make her hands so calloused. Her nails, Mary noticed, were short, and there was dirt beneath them. "I want _you_."

Mary couldn't move. It was as if she was being pinned in place by those storm gray eyes like a butterfly to a board. She tried to speak, but no words would come.

"I can give you a life where you and your daughter never have to toil, or struggle, or fight for what you want ever again." Those strong, calloused hands moved from her face to clutch at Mary's. "No more late night sheep watches. No more reason to fear the snow. An end to scrabbling in the dirt just to feed yourself and Emma." The woman ran her thumbs across the palms of Mary's work-roughened hands, tracing the lines and scars worn in from a lifetime of work. "I can give you everything you could ever want."

"Can you give me back my son?" Mary choked out. She hadn't meant to. She'd barely even been able to speak of Jack in the year since his death, even with Emma, but-

Fairy, demon, whatever the woman before her might be, if she could give Jack back to Mary, she could have whatever she wanted.

The woman dropped her eyes, and it was like the pressure on Mary suddenly lifted. "That is beyond my power."

Mary wanted to scream. For a moment, there had been _hope_ -

"But I can show him to you."

 

 

_Foolish, stupid girl,_ Seraphina chastised herself. The warm south wind churned around them, keeping Mary from feeling the cold as they waited. The mortal still shivered, even beneath the bearskin cloak Seraphina had draped her in.

What had she been _thinking_? She should have never stayed after helping to raise Jack Frost. She should have never involved herself with these mortals. She should have never opened Mary's eyes to the greater truth of the world.

Jack Frost skittered gracefully across the frozen river, chasing a half-dozen giggling children as they gliding on the ice with wooden runners. Mary inhaled sharply, falling to her knees in the snow as she sobbed. "Jackson-!"

Seraphina knelt beside her, placing a hand between Mary's shoulder blades. She knew that there was nothing she could say that would ease Mary's grief, so she said nothing. Jack's laughter echoed across the snow covered hills, carried by the north wind.

"We should go back," Seraphina finally whispered as the children dispersed and the moon rose over the horizon. She could feel the weighty gaze of the Tsar upon her, ever watching. "Emma will be worried."

That snapped Mary back to the here and now, though her eyes never left Jack Frost's lonely figure as he gazed up at the moon. "I can't leave him-"

"He does not know you," Seraphina told her as gently as she could. "And I am bound to not interfere in his life." She pulled Mary back to her feet, wrapping the bear skin more tightly around her. "There is nothing you can do for him now. Your daughter needs you."

She wasn't thinking of Jack, all alone on the river as his mother cried for him. Instead, she thought of a slim shadow and a pair of golden eyes that stared at her without recognition.

No one is beautiful when they cry, and Mary was no exception.

 

It could have been a dream.

It had to be a dream.

Mary convinced herself it was a dream until she found the bear skin cloak draped across her bed. The thick brown fur was coarse beneath Mary's fingers, and very, very real.

_"Who are you?"_

_"I have many names. You may call me... Sera."_

_"Are you some demon, come to torment me?"_

_"Your pain is the the last thing I want."_

_"Then why would you show me that?"_

Her boy, her Jackson, hair turned white as snow... alive. Laughing.

_"Because you asked it of me."_

Stormcloud gray eyes, filled with longing, and impossible promises that could easily be made real. Hadn't Mary seen proof of that, time and again, over the last year?

She took the bearskin cloak and folded it up, dropping it on top of the ceder chest.

_"Say the word, and the world can be yours."_

The world, but not her son.

_"You need time to think, and you will have it. You have only to say my name..."_

She'd looked so lonely as she'd left. Lonely, and every bit as lost as Mary felt. She'd wanted to call out to Sera then and there, but the words had remained stuck in her throat. Mary couldn't throw her life to the wind. She had to think of what was best for Emma.

Her daughter was already out with the flock. Mary could just see her when she looked out the door, shouldering burdens she was too young to bear. Despite it all, Emma held up well...

But she could have things so much better.

To never toil, to never struggle, to never scrabble in the dirt again. That was what Sera had promised, with those rough hands and ancient eyes.

To never have to listen to the chastisements of men who were free to think of nothing but their piety ever again. To be free of envious, covetous eyes and venomed tongues.

Perhaps... to see Jack again.

Mary stepped out into the morning sunlight and raised her head, whispering a single word.

"Sera..."


End file.
